At Second Glance
by MiraClarinet
Summary: Ellowyn was young when her father died; old enough to remmeber, young enough to never forget. Her fondest memories are of his music. How will she ever forget her beloved father?
1. Prologue

_**Another random idea I had to get out there. Enjoy!**_

_**I'm trying a new writing style. So, its going to be a bit slow/choppy more then likely. Also, please, please, review! I want to know if this style works for me or not.**_

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><p>Blue eyes stared out a rain-stained window. As the long, black van drove away, she felt tears come to her eyes, helping the stormy mist shield the van from view. It disappeared as a ghost into the early day fog.<p>

Ellowyn hoped she would never see the van again. This was the second time it had pulled into her driveway; the second time it had come to take someone she knew away. First, it was her Grandmother, one winter when Ellowyn was just a young child. Now, her very own father.

This was different. As a child, she would always sit outside on the porch, or take walks in the garden, wondering when her grandmother would come to visit again. It wasn't until she was older that she realized she would never see her again. But this time? This time she knew. She knew what the van meant.

She fell to her knees. Beside her, a music box sung Brahms' "Lullaby." Ellowyn sat in silence and listened. She could remember the days as a child, sitting beside her father as he and her grandmother played the piece. She remembered how her grandmother's fingers would dance across the piano keys without trouble; how the sound of her father's clarinet would ring through the halls of the house long after he stopped playing. She remembered them playing "Willows of Winter" over the speakers when the weather was too bad outside.

Music had always been a large, lovely part of her life. When she was sick, her father would sit by her bedside and sing until one of them fell asleep. When she was happy, she would dance to one of her father's marches. Even when her grandmother died, the tears were drowned out by beautiful sonatas and concertos.

But now, as she sat listening to the lullaby, she couldn't bear the sound. It haunted her. The memories of her past floated around her, caressed in a black fog. The notes were sour to her ears. The melodies once held dear to her now made her sick. She longed to shut the music box and leave it on the mantel, never to be touched.

She knew she couldn't do it.

She couldn't resist restarting the fragile mechanism. She couldn't stand to end the music, despite the bitter saltiness it left in her mouth. As long as it played, she felt her tears would be dry.

She sat there for hours. She sat until the batteries in the box ran dry. As the last, dreadful, dying note left the box, her mother stole into the room and lifted Ellowyn into her arms. She held her close, whispering soothing words into her ear. Ellowyn listened, her cheeks wet with fresh tears. Her mother stroked her back.

"You'll see him again, Elli. He'll be back."

Ellowyn knew her mother was lying. Although momentarily soothing, Ellowyn knew he would never come back. Her father was gone. He was lost with the last of the summer clouds. Like her grandmother, winter had stolen him away. The first snowflakes fell to the ground outside the frosty windows. The tracks of the van, which before had filled with water, now filled with little flecks of white. Ellowyn let the flakes drift her to sleep as her mother lay her on her soft bed. Like old times, her mother sat by her bedside and began to hum. Her mother's rough, toneless voice was nothing to sooth her, and she fell asleep with wet tears in her eyes.

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><p><em><strong>I know this is short. It's a prologue. Sorry. Next chapter will be longer, promise.<strong>_


	2. Chapter 1

_**Chapter 1 here! And I do actually know someone named Calico ha-ha. **_

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><p>Ellowyn stood in the garden, where she often found herself on good days. She hummed the day's song, Symphonie Fantastique , as she examined an unusually large rose. Inches away, her elder sister, Calico, sat reading a large, dull-looking book, resting her back against the smooth metal bench. Ellowyn sighed and trained her eyes on her sister. What did Calico see in those words?<p>

To Ellowyn, words on a page were meaningless. It was notes, crescendos and accents that gained her focus. To Ellowyn, words on a page were like those from her lesson books; dull and unnatural. The words meant nothing unless spoken aloud. Music. Music could be anywhere, everywhere. It could be in your mind or in your soul. Out loud, it was a masterpiece. Held in, it was a comforter. Words alone meant nothing unless put into music. Then they became lyrics; they became meaningful.

"Ellowyn, have you memorized your phrases today?" Miss Ginger, her lesson teacher, was a very kind woman. She was young and understood much of Ellowyn's ideas. Yet even Miss Ginger did not see Ellowyn's love of the melodies. To her, it was words that meant everything, while music meant nothing at all.

Ellowyn knew Miss Ginger would scold her. She always did. They went through the sequence everyday; Miss Ginger would tell her to memorize words, and Ellowyn would not. It wasn't that Ellowyn purposely did it. She tried. Ellowyn tried as hard as she could to memorize the words.

"I memorize music, not words." Ellowyn said, as always,. She became entranced once again by her rose; she imagined a music staff upon its petals.

"Music can not be without words, Elli." Miss Ginger replied, as always. Nothing ever changed, not in the Brogan house.

Ellowyn stood silent, not meeting Miss Ginger's eyes. The instructor sighed, her footsteps disappearing slowly through the garden. Ellowyn stood still until she was sure Miss Ginger was gone. She felt her sister's eyes locked on her.

"You really should listen to her, Elli." Calico warned.

"Why? She doesn't see things the way I do."

"I don't always either."

"And I don't always listen to you."

"Elli, that isn't the point. What I mean is, sometimes older people know best."

"She doesn't know what's best for me, Cali. Only I do." Ellowyn sighed, taking a seat beside her sister.

"Sometimes you have to listen to others to actually realize what is best for you."

"Cali, Miss Ginger hasn't been through what I have. How can she possibly know what's best for me?" Ellowyn folded her arms across her chest, turning to look directly in calico's eyes. "I don't see use for words in my life."

"Words can be more useful then music Elli. You'll see someday." With that, Calico stood. With a gentle wave and half-smile, she stalked away, her gown fluttering in the wind.

Ellowyn sat for moments after that, allowing her red hair to flow into her face. She stared at the clouds, imagining her father's face in each of them. Her mother could never take his place, however much she tried. She was too busy. Too busy working. Most of her day was spent at her company's headquarters in a city about an hour away. When she was home, her mother would sit at the computer or lock herself in her bedroom, napping or chatting on the phone to some hired associate or whatever. Even when Ellowyn's father had been alive, she had spent her days at work, while he sat at home with Ellowyn and her siblings, writing music that appealed to her ears like chocolate on the tongue. He would always worry over Ellowyn's mother, saying she would work herself to death, and that Ellowyn and her siblings knew too little about her. He would say she was less of a mother to them then the music he wrote on his page(Which Ellowyn strongly believed.)

After sitting alone in the garden for some time, Ellowyn departed back into the dark confines of the house. It was so empty, always quiet. Now that the music no longer filled the halls, she always felt as if the house were hiding a secret she was never meant to know. It felt like a prison.

Ellowyn peered out the front window, past the garden. Outside, the hedges hid the driveway from view. Now Ellowyn could see it and the road beyond. Cars rarely came down the road. It was mostly residential, making way to other large manors that belonged to people Ellowyn didn't know. Sometimes her mother would disappear to dinner parties without them. Those nights, the road would be busy, with many different cars driving past.

Today, only her mother's car appeared on the road. A usual, it turned into the driveway, and her mother stepped out. As usual, her mother looked like a normal business woman; dark slacks with a matching jacket and a colorful undershirt beneath, meant to make her seem more homely. To Ellowyn, it made her look fake. Her fake smile, her high heels she pretended to be able to walk in, especially the make up caked onto her mother's face; it was all fake. A ploy, really, to make people at her company trust her and feel comfortable around her. Ellowyn didn't fall for it. Neither had her father. They both preferred her in the mornings, when she wore a night gown and no makeup, and her hair fell around her shoulders. Ellowyn's mother had beautiful hair, which she passed down to Ellowyn herself. It was soft and slightly curly, not too thick and not too thin. If Ellowyn rolled it, she had perfect ringlet curls down to her chest. Ellowyn loved her hair. Yet her mother kept hers up in tight buns that took little time to put in, but looked like it took hours.

Ellowyn knew her mother would go straight into her home office upstairs. She always would. She would stay up for hours working on her computer, then come down to the kitchen and sip coffee before finally falling asleep at the table. Occasionally she would skip the coffee and go to bed. Other days, the children would wake and she would already be at work. Ellowyn had once caught her leaving just after midnight.

Today, however, her mother paused at the door. She smiled warmly at Ellowyn and motioned for her to follow. Ellowyn obeyed, surprised. Together, they trudged upstairs to her mother's office.

Ellowyn had never been inside the office before; her mother was always worried she would mess something up or distract her from her work. Now, Ellowyn was invited inside. Her mother motioned towards a large, cushioned couch. Ellowyn took a seat, wondering what it could be for, since this was the first she had heard of any of her siblings being allowed inside. Glancing around, she found herself surrounded by her father's face, as well as her own and her siblings'. It was slightly unnerving; many eyes staring at her.

"I miss him too, Elli. You know I do."

"You don't show it." Ellowyn mumbled under her breath. Her mother sighed, signing onto her computer and typing something with the skill of many years.

"I have to focus on my work. It's the only thing keeping us in this house."

"We could get a smaller house."

"Elli, you know I could never sell this house."

Truth was, Ellowyn would never be able to part, either. All the memories of her father and her grandmother were locked within the walls. She would miss the garden, the secluded peace of living in the wealthier part of town and away from everyone else. As much as the shadow of the building made her wince, it was still her house.

"That's not what you brought me in here for. You don't need me to discuss your work." _You have associates for that._

"No, Ellowyn, it isn't. I was speaking to Amandine over the phone today. She says you haven't been focusing much in your lessons."

"I don't need them."

"I wouldn't pay for an instructor if you didn't."

"Melody and Calico don't need lessons."

"They are eighteen Ellowyn. You are only twelve. You need to study in order to get anywhere in life."

"If it doesn't have music, its not a place I want to be." Ellowyn puffed.

"I know. You are a lot like your father."

Ellowyn glowered over this. It was a great compliment to her.

"That is why I'm sending you to school."

Ellowyn snapped her head away from a specific photo of her father on her grandmother's piano to stare at her mother.

"School? Mother, I can't go to school! I can barely focus on lessons at home! Besides, how would I get there? You are always working." She protested.

"That's why I will send you to Manister in Enrick."

_A performing arts school? _

Ellowyn had heard about the school from her father; he had hoped to get a job at the prestigious boarding school, but had died before he could send the application. While it wasn't far from Elm Hills, it was away. Ellowyn didn't know if she could leave the place she had grown up.

"I can't perform mother. I've never picked up an instrument before. I've done little singing. Even, I've never danced or acted in my life! How would I get into Manister if I don't know one of their required skills?"

"I have a good associate who works as a vice principle there. She sent in the good word, and said you could get in. The principle knew your father well, and believes that any of you children could possess his talent."

Ellowyn scoffed. As youngest child, she had before seen her siblings attempt to cheer her by trying to be like her father. They would try singing, or pick up his old clarinet(which Ellowyn quickly stole away.) Once, Lee had tried to play their grandmother's piano, and had only managed to get a key stuck beneath another. It had taken hours to remove it, and the note hadn't worked since.

"I'm not like father. I don't know anything."

"Ellowyn, I've heard you humming in the garden. You have a beautiful voice. And I know you play the piano when you are alone. I can see the fingerprints In the dust."

It was true. Ellowyn enjoyed drumming out tunes on the old piano, only when she knew she could not be heard. She didn't find herself good; she could get out melodies, but they were never like what her grandmother would play.

"They don't offer piano." Ellowyn pointed out. It was a lie; her father once told her of the spectacular piano duets he would hear at their concerts, which he loved to attend.

"You could play clarinet. Like your father."

Suddenly, Ellowyn felt deceived. That's what this was about.

"I'm not him, mother."

"I'm not saying you are."

"You want me to be. You want him back, and I'm the closest you will ever get. Am I right?"

Her mother didn't speak. Ellowyn sighed, feeling tears well into her eyes. She fought them back and stood to leave.

"Please, Elli, think about it?"

Ellowyn didn't reply. She stalked out the door and closed it roughly behind her.

As the sun set across Elm Hills, Ellowyn's eyes caught on the dusty case at the corner of her room. She kept it there, hidden from her siblings. Now, the dimming sunset reflected in the silver despite the years of gathered dust. She picked it up and set it on her lap. Carefully, she opened it up and stared at the polished silver keys, the dark wood of the body. She ran her fingers along the instrument longingly. Her mother's words echoed in her mind. _You are just like him. _

Before she realized what she was doing, the instrument was assembled in her hands. She stared at it. Something about it, something about holding it between her hands. It felt natural, as if she had always played it, always held it there. It was an extension of herself.

She placed the reed to her mouth. Taking a deep, timid breath, she allowed the air from her lungs to flow into her father's clarinet. Out came a warm sound. It sounded sad and happy together; years of neglect and joy of being played once again reflected in one note. Ellowyn blew again, harder this time, confidently. It was like no sound she had heard before; sweet to the ears.

She sighed and looked at the instrument. For a moment, she couldn't help but smile. Everything felt where it belonged again. It felt as if my father were right there, sitting beside me and instructing me how to play. I felt at home again. The prison walls had risen, and I was once again sitting in the well-lit garden listening to the muffled sounds of the duets of her grandmother and father. She could hear him humming Brahms' Lullaby, even though the music box remained dead on her dresser.

Ellowyn didn't care anymore if she went to Manister. As long as she could play, she would be happy, wherever she was.


End file.
